


How to Form a Family in Four Easy Steps

by LeftHand, malevolentmango, Vashoth



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Multi, The slow assembly of the worlds gayest triangle, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, and then the slightly speedier assembly of the worlds gayest square, eventual polyamory, first kiss(es)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-14 22:41:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10545558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeftHand/pseuds/LeftHand, https://archiveofourown.org/users/malevolentmango/pseuds/malevolentmango, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vashoth/pseuds/Vashoth
Summary: It took nearly 100 years, a few wars (both World and Civil), and no small amount of confusion for "Steve and Bucky" to become "Steve and Bucky and Tony and Sam," but they got there eventually.





	1. Both. Both is good.

**Author's Note:**

> First section of Chapter 1 was written by [Lefty](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LeftHand/pseuds/LeftHand).  
> The last section of Chapter 1 was written by [Mango](http://archiveofourown.org/users/malevolentmango/pseuds/malevolentmango).  
> The latter half of the first section in Chapter 2 was written by [Lefty](http://archiveofourown.org/users/LeftHand/pseuds/LeftHand).  
> The last section of Chapter 2 was written by [Mango](http://archiveofourown.org/users/malevolentmango/pseuds/malevolentmango).  
> All else was written by [Elaine](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Vashoth/pseuds/Vashoth).

Really, it was completely incorrect to call it a ‘first kiss.’

 

It wasn’t their first.

 

Not by a long shot.

 

Steve had always relished in things that screamed more than a physical act of sincerity anyway. Not that kisses weren’t _amazing_ shared between those you love, but there was always something far more meaningful in the hand planted at your lower back in times of doubt or a quiet ‘This reminded me of you.’

 

Bucky had always been full of them; small, meaningful acts of love. Fond doe-eyed expressions at things that by all means he should not find so endearing in Steve. Like in ‘34, when he’d pressed a wet cloth to Steve’s scraped forehead after several rounds of a back alley scrap defending the virtue of a girl he’d never met but sure as hell knew Jimmy Carter shouldn’t be saying crude things to.

 

The sigh on his lips as he’d berated Steve even despite the losing fight against the fondness in his tone.

 

Steve recalled another time in ‘36. He was near deathly allergic to cats. In fact, in all honesty he was near deathly allergic to most things before the serum.

 

It was two months after his mother had died and he’d heard the mewling of a kitten in the alley before he’d actually seen it crowding the cold form of its mother.

 

“We can’t keep it. Dorothy will have a fit, Stevie.”

 

Bucky was just dancing around Steve’s allergies and Steve knew it. Their landlady loved cats almost as much as she loved Steve.  

 

“We’re keeping him.”

 

Bucky had taken one look at Steve’s expression, bony hands curling around the kitten’s soft form. “Becca can take him when he’s older, but we have to look after him first.”

 

He’d expected a rebuttal, for Bucky to put his foot down or mock Steve’s sniffling as the fur of the kitten irritated his nose.

 

But his eyes had just filled with fondness and pride.

 

Technically _that_ had led to their first kiss.

 

The modern world with its technology and vast, pretentious apparent understanding of past and future still had yet to emulate the same feeling in Steve of warm Brooklyn nights lounging on a rooftop in a pressed shirt. Just listening to the sound of Bucky hum a show tune to himself around the filter of a rolled cigarette as Steve made an attempt at capturing the glimmer of mischief in his eye or the sharp curve of his smirk on paper.

 

It had taken a long time for Bucky Barnes to relight that same glimmer of mischief within himself. It had taken longer yet for Bucky to look at Steve with the same fondness he had all those many years ago. So long, in fact, that for the first time since the ice Steve felt his age. Too old for his body, like his soul had spent those decades decaying even despite the frozen tomb.

 

Bucky’s eyes reflected the same thing sometimes.

 

Even on a rooftop. Humming a showtune. with the curve of his smirk making Steve’s fingers _itch_ for a pencil.

 

Granted it wasn’t Brooklyn, it was Manhattan. Also granted behind them Tony Stark lounged against Sam Wilson with two drinks in his hand and a laugh that Steve would swear could carry across the city.

 

He still felt at peace. He felt _warm._

 

“Sounds real good, Buck.” He smiled, shifting behind the man and wrapping his arms around his frame.

 

“You’re a flatterer.” Bucky grinned.

 

“No I ain’t.”

 

Bucky turned then, captured Steve’s lips with his own and shared a moment of peace against the backdrop of laughter and the burnt orange of the evening sun.

 

When they parted, Bucky’s eyes filled with soft fondness and Steve’s heart skipped a beat.

 

No, it wasn’t their first kiss.

 

Not really.

 

But in the tumbling whirl of their lives and the honest love in Bucky’s eyes, it felt like it.

 

Every new kiss would be their first because they knew what it felt like to share a last.

 

“We can do this, y’know?” Bucky whispered, leaning his head back to press it against Steve’s shoulder.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah. S’long as we got each other.”

 

And it was sappy as hell but it was so very _Bucky_ and his heart ached for it.

 

“Alright, Buck.” He pressed another kiss into the crown of the man’s head. “Alright.”

 

* * *

 

He _knew_ he was doing it. He _had_ to know he was doing it. It was too fucking planned, too perfect for him not to know that he was fucking _doing it again._  The whole enthused pep-talk crap was too sunny, too _nauseatingly idealistic_ for Steve to not know that he was doing that stupid thing where he fucking radiated the whole Captain America vibe.

 

Tony squinted.

 

He was pretty sure Steve’s eyes were fake too. Serum, or contact lenses. Occam’s Razor, and all that.

 

_Whatever._

 

The giant blond golden retriever puppy folded the extendable metal pointer like it hadn’t been dug out of the grave of a 1940s school teacher and was in fact the most normal thing in the world. He turned and looked back at the group, smiling nervously.

 

“Does… Does that make sense?” Steve asked cautiously. About his plan to raid a fucking hydra base. And he was asking if it made sense like it was a fucking school project. “You all are being kinda quiet, and--”

 

“Well, Cap,” Tony said, taking mercy on him. Because really, that’s what it was. Mercy. “Assuming they’ve never heard of guns, sure. It makes perfect sense.”

 

Those blue eyes went from glittery to steely in record time and Tony honest to god nearly breathed a sigh of relief.

 

“What makes you say that, Stark?” Steve crossed his arms over his chest. Tony pointedly did not stare at his arms. He did _not._

 

“First of all,” Tony hopped up out of his chair and ignored the ‘do not’ Natasha hissed as he passed. He snatched the pointer out from Steve’s hands, and extended it again. He may have hit the map with a little more force than necessary, but in his defense, who the hell used paper maps anymore? “We can expect snipers here, here, and here. I’m sure Buchanan will back me up on that.”

 

Steve looked to Bucky, who very intentionally avoided Steve’s gaze. The betrayal in Wonder Boy’s face was so real.

 

“Plus, while you’re busy looking for the infantry reinforcements that don’t exist anymore,” Tony dragged the tip of the pointer so that the map crinkled and relished the way he could feel Steve’s glare without even looking, “the rest of us grown ups will be dealing with the drones swooping in from all sides.”

 

“So what do you suggest, then?” Steve’s voice was that low growl that got Tony thinking.

 

_Bad._

 

“Ground attack.” Tony shrugged, pushing the tip of the pointer back into itself. “Case you hadn’t noticed, we have the goddamn Hulk with us. You and your boy toy are practically immortal--”

 

“And what about Natasha? Or Agent Hill?” Steve interrupted. Always a sign that he was losing his cool. “Not everyone here has a suit.”

 

“I can fix that, y’know.” Tony tossed the pointer back to Steve, who somehow managed to make catching the damn thing look aggressive. “Give everyone suits, I mean. You want a suit, Nat?”

 

Natasha hid a grin behind her hand.

 

“No, we’re not giving everyone suits--”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Y’know, that’s it.” Steve cut his hand through the air signalling the end of the meeting. “That’s enough for today.”

 

Tony groaned, watching as everyone got up and left without complaint. “C’mon, just like that?”

 

Bucky shuffled out more quickly than necessary, still probably feeling badly for throwing Steve under the proverbial bus. Clint wasn’t far behind with his arm slung around Bruce’s neck and describing a local buffet that sounded awful. Natasha bumped into Tony, giving him a meaningful look.

 

“Do you know why boys pull girls’ pigtails on the playground?”

 

“Because they have crushes?” Tony said blandly, not wanting her to have the upper hand.

 

“Because they are emotionally stunted and awful at self expression.” She glowered. “You might relate.”

 

Tony pressed his hand to his chest, offended. Her red hair swished out behind her close enough to flick him across the nose. He was pretty sure she did that on purpose too.

 

When the door finally closed behind her with a gentle click, Tony turned to Steve.

 

“What?”

 

“What do you mean, what?” Steve exploded. “Everything was going fine and then you had to go and… and… _Stark_ all over everything.”

 

Tony did a triple take. “Did you just use my name as a verb?”

 

“You know, when you…” Steve gestured vaguely, like he was some kind of ringmaster. It was stupidly adorable. “Do the _thing."_

 

“No, call it Starking,” Tony interjected, grinning. “I _love_ that.”

 

Steve dragged his hands down his face and took a deep breath. “I don’t get it, Tony. Things were fine this morning. We were getting along. Did I say something? Was it something I did?”

 

Tony just blinked at him. “What?”

 

“You’re always so…” Steve tried to find the right words and looked like the ones he’d wanted slipped by seventy years prior. His eyes fell, and the tension left his shoulders in one fell swoop. _Shit._  “I don’t know. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. You were right about the drones.”

 

Tony was starting to wish he had something better to say than, “ _What?_ ”

 

Steve’s laugh was hollow. “Everyone likes you. And you seem to like everyone. Except…”

 

If Tony’s jaw had hit the floor before, he was pretty sure it had tunnelled to the other side of the planet by now. Steve Rogers, Captain _Fucking_ America, wanted Tony Stark to like him. This giant goober of a man, someone who made googly eyes at his recently thawed boyfriend whenever he thought no one was watching, the same guy that insisted that freeze dried apple pie was _un-American,_  wanted _Tony Stark_ to like him.

 

_ > Tony_Stark.exe stopped working. _

 

When Steve’s hand grasped his shoulder lightly, Tony jumped about a mile into the air. He stared at the place where Steve touched him like he couldn’t believe it was real. Couldn’t believe Steve was real.

 

“Sorry. Just grouchy.” Steve offered a half-assed attempt at a smile. “We’ll figure out a better--”

 

To his dying day, Tony would never understood what came over him in that second. He had no idea what could have possibly crossed his mind that made it seem like a good idea to make enemies with the Winter Soldier in one gesture but. There he was. Pressed against Steve’s chest with his arm wrapped snuggly around his waist, kissing him hard enough that he wasn’t sure if it was a sign of affection or aggression.

 

When he pulled away, Steve looked maybe _half_ as shocked as he felt.

 

“We’ll uh,” Tony floundered. “We’ll talk.”

 

And with that, Tony Stark--genius, billionaire, philanthropist, _Ironman_ \--fucking fled for his goddamn life.

 

* * *

 

When Steve made it back to their shared apartment in the tower, he moved immediately to open the fridge. He bent over and peered into the more or less empty shelves, face screwed up in deep concentration like he wasn’t sure whether he wanted the slightly moldy grapes, or the jar of diced garlic that Bucky had bought when he was feeling optimistic about cooking.

 

“You uh,” Bucky made a half-hearted gesture. “You wanna talk about it? Or…?”

 

Steve whirled around, eyes wide and wild. His face turned a dark enough red that Bucky was mildly concerned about his blood pressure.

 

“Bucky! Sorry. _Hi._ Didn’t see you.” Steve grinned in that way he did when he felt guilty about something. He shrugged a shoulder towards the still open fridge. “Can I, uh. Get you anything?”

 

“Gee Stevie, that’d be great,” Bucky said dryly. He sat back on the barstool. “It’s just been too much of a hassle to move from the breakfast bar to the fridge. Thank god you’re home.”

 

Steve scowled and the red lightened up a bit. “You don’t gotta be an _ass_ about it.”

 

Bucky grinned. “Love you too.”

 

The look of dread that flashed over Steve’s face was remarkable really. Cartoonish, almost. But it was nowhere near as ridiculous as the high pitched laugh that Steve let out. It sounded almost like a scream he only barely managed to alter before the air whooshed out of his lungs. Had he not been the walking talking paragon of everything the super soldier serum could do, Bucky might have been more worried.

 

“Love you too, Bucky,” Steve rushed the words out. The fridge door was still open behind him and the cold air had extended far enough that Bucky was starting to feel it. But Steve’s worried gaze held the majority of Bucky’s attention. “You know that right? I love you.”

 

He frowned. “What is it?”

 

“Nothing!” Steve barked, reaching behind him to shut the fridge so hard that it shook the whole appliance. Bucky raised an eyebrow and Steve dragged his hands down his face. “Okay. Not nothing. But you gotta know, I had no idea Buck. I would’ve said something, I swear--”

 

“Spit it out, Stevie.”

 

Steve looked pained, and buried his face in his hands before he mumbled, “Tonymighthavekissedme.”

 

Bucky blinked once. Twice. He was pretty sure he’d heard correctly, but just in case, “What?”

 

Fear flooded Steve’s features moments before the babbling started. “Tony. Tony Stark. Kissed me. He kissed me, Buck--not the other way around, okay?--and I didn’t know. I mean I know that he… He… Y’know. But not that he felt like. Y’know? I’ll tell him nothing can come of it though, okay? Don’t worry--”

 

“Wait, wait.” Bucky held up a hand. “Slow down.”

 

Steve was floundering and he approached Bucky from the other side of the kitchen bar, hands reaching across the surface palms up. Bucky placed his hands on top of Steve’s, setting his newspaper crossword puzzle off to the side, and tried to look as reassuring as he could. It was, weirdly, not one of the skills Hydra had drilled into his head, so. Success seemed to vary. And while the red flush on Steve’s neck and cheeks had receded a bit, he was still chewing on his lip like he planned to swallow it.

 

“Are you mad?” Steve’s voice was small.

 

“No.” Bucky shook his head. “Not really.”

 

Steve winced. “It’s alright to be mad. I should’ve… The signs were there. I wasn’t paying attention because… I… I don’t know.”

 

Bucky nodded. “Because you liked the extra attention from Tony.”

 

“What?” Steve squawked, yanking his hands away to wring them against his chest. “No! No, I love you, Buck. I ain’t going anywhere, alright? As long as you want me--”

 

Honestly, Bucky wondered if he ought to start wearing a shirt with a warning on it. ‘Warning: Highly trained Soviet Spy. Can tell when you’re lying. Is probably armed.’

 

“Til the end of the line.” Bucky nodded again, holding up an appeasing hand. He realized belatedly that holding up his left arm could’ve been interpreted as a threat, but thankfully Steve was just as dense and trusting as always and started breathing a little easier. “I know. I’m not mad at you Stevie, honest.”

 

He set his hands back down on the countertop, wiggling his fingers a little until Steve cautiously took them in his own again. Bucky smiled and squeezed.

 

“I’ll tell him nothing’s going to come of it, Buck,” Steve said solemnly. “Tonight. I’ll tell him tonight. Okay?”

 

Bucky scrunched up his nose, and tapped a metal finger against Steve’s palm thoughtfully. Steve was still assuring him that he would sever all contact with Tony (or something equally dramatic), but Bucky had tuned him out.

 

Though he couldn’t feel Steve’s skin in the same way he could with his flesh and blood arm, the sensors Tony had installed were truly remarkable. It told his brain that the skin he pressed into was lightly calloused, warm, and cracked down the middle. He ran his finger along the ridge, making a mental note to pick up more lotion when he went to the store next, and compared the feeling to running his real fingers over Steve’s other hand.

 

By all rights, Tony Stark should hate him. Winter Soldier or not, he’d slaughtered the guy’s parents on film and single handedly split the Avengers into warring factions simply by still being alive. Even after things had settled down, it took the better part of a year for Steve and Tony to really re-learn their friendship. Bucky’s presence hadn’t really sped up the process. He knew that.

 

But Steve had insisted that Bucky stay with him--that if Steve was to move into the tower, then Bucky was coming with him. And maybe it was a little selfish, but Bucky hadn’t tried to dissuade Steve of this notion either. He had held on to Steve just as hard as Steve clinged to him, grounding himself back in reality in the warmth of his best friend, his lover. His everything.  

 

Learning that Steve had existed without him, had made friends without him, was an awful, bittersweet thing. Living in the tower was just further proof that people were drawn to Steve like moths to a lantern. He just burned too bright to ever have had a chance at being a wallflower. Even when he was ninety pounds soaking wet.

 

Now, the giant wall of muscle, pouty lips and big blue puppy eyes was impossible to ignore. Like staring directly into the sun without blinking, watching Steve could make you blind to everything that happened around him. It was so easy to place him in the ‘hero’ box; to assume that he exuded moral purity and righteousness. To watch him fight and see it as the ultimate form of altruism instead of the side effect of an adrenaline junkie with strong opinions and the self-control strength of damp tissue.

 

Bucky loved him for it. It wasn’t so hard to see that the people Steve had surrounded himself with would love him for it too. And maybe that’s why it didn’t bother him, really, to know that someone else saw that side of Steve and found it as magnetizing as Bucky did.

 

“--sorry, Buck. This’ll never happen again, okay?” Steve was shaking his hands lightly and Bucky tuned back in.

 

“Why not?” Bucky tilted his head to the side. “Tony’s pretty cute. Might be weird to kiss the guy that frequently has his mouth on the dick of the guy who murdered his parents, but I’m not gonna judge’im.”

 

Steve blanched. “What? No. No. I’m with you, Buck.”

 

“No, Stevie, you’re not listening,” Bucky squeezed his hands again. “I’m with you too, punk. M’not goin’ anywhere.”

 

Steve frowned. “I don’t understand.”

 

Bucky took a deep breath, and let it out slow.

 

“Steven Grant Rogers, you had me from the first time I watched you try to take on six full grown men as a fucking fourteen year old because they had said something politically offensive--”

 

Steve huffed, grumbling under his breath about ‘Not offensive. It was _unacceptable,_  racist bullshit.’ Bucky pushed onward over the top of him.

 

“--and even after I gave you hell for it, you insisted that you would do it again in a heartbeat. And y’know what’s nuts?” Bucky smiled at him fondly. “I believed you. Point is, no matter what fights you stick your giant nose into, I’m going to be there to back you up. Or haul your ass out if I need to.”

 

He paused, tapping his fingers again against Steve’s palms, to make sure the blonde was keeping pace.

 

“Doesn’t just apply to fights either. This thing with Tony ain’t one sided, pal,” Bucky said, then spoke quickly to cut Steve off before he could interrupt again. “Don’t deny it. And I know you’d toss him off the roof if I asked you to, but what I’m sayin’ is that I’m not asking you to do that.”

 

Steve squinted. “So you want me to just… Do _nothing?_ ”

 

“I want,” Bucky clarified, “for you and Tony to follow the natural course of this thing. Whatever the hell it is.”

 

Steve gaped at him. His jaw opened and shut silently, making him look like a giant dumb koi fish. “Are you breaking up with me?”

 

Bucky snorted, “No.”

 

“But you want me to date Tony.”

 

“If it feels right, sure.”

 

Steve’s eyes narrowed further and he directed all this furrowed brow confusion at their linked hands. Steve shifted his own, pressing their palms together until he could lace their fingers and squeeze. He opened his mouth, paused, then closed it. He did that two more times before eventually managing to puff out a terse, “ _Hm._ ”

 

“Hm,” Steve said again, and Bucky chuckled.

 

“Y’alright there, punk?” Bucky twisted his wrists to pull Steve closer across the counter and kiss him lightly on the nose. “Did your old man brain break?”

 

“I’m only one year older than you.” Steve groused.

 

“Ancient.”

 

A smile cracked through the worried mask thick on Steve’s face and Bucky found himself breathing a little easier.

 

“Besides,” Bucky shrugged. “I like Stark. I know it’s one sided, but. He’s funny. And he lets me hide in his lab.”

 

Steve’s features softened and Bucky recognized that look. Still, he couldn’t find it anywhere in him to be jealous. Steve was his, for as many lifetimes as they survived. After the helicarrier, there was nothing on this mortal plane that could ever make him doubt that. Maybe if he was younger and more hot-blooded, but… Steve was hot-blooded enough for the both of them.

 

“You still gotta insist that I’m prettier, though,” Bucky feigned a serious tone, and batted his eyelashes at Steve. “He’s cute, but I’m cuter.”

 

“Yeah, Buck,” Steve leaned forward and planted a kiss on him that made Bucky’s toes curl. “You’re the prettiest doll in the whole damn world.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

In retrospect, Tony and Bucky’s first kiss shouldn’t have been surprising at all.

 

It made perfect sense that Tony should find refuge in his workshop. It was _his,_ after all, built to his exact specifications and fitted out with more gadgets and technology than you could find even in an engineering student’s wet dream. He spent more time there than anywhere else in the tower, save perhaps the lounge, which was where Sam and Steve would drag him to whenever they thought he was spending a little too much time surrounded in sparks and silence, lost in a swirling mess of his own thoughts.

 

What made less sense, at least to anyone on the team who’d needed to ask Bucky a question and found him in the last place they’d expected, was how much time Bucky had begun spending there with him.

 

It was awkward, at first. Bucky would ask Tony to take a look at his arm, “I think one of the wires is loose,” and then when Tony found nothing out of place, he would linger there like a silent, persistent shadow. Just watching Tony work on whatever latest project had captured his interest.

 

But Tony had gotten used to weirder things. Big hole in his chest, shrapnel in his veins, falling out of a weird alien portal in the sky. Seeing Clint Barton in his tighty whities at 2am, drinking milk straight from the carton like some kind of _animal._

 

Having the former Winter Soldier loiter around his workshop was practically a vacation in comparison.

 

Eventually Bucky stopped making up excuses, and Tony stopped asking for them. But that didn’t stop him from asking questions.

 

“What was weirder for you, the internet or the fact that only hipsters buy record players now?”

 

“How much bread could you buy for five bucks in the olden days?”

 

“What were condoms like back then? Asking for a friend.”

 

Most of the time, he might have been asking FRIDAY for all the response his questions got him, and at least she might’ve been able to Google it. But on an otherwise normal Wednesday evening, he finally got an answer.

 

Or rather, he got Bucky snorting. And then laughing so hard he even seemed to surprise himself.

 

His voice was rough when he finally spoke, as if he didn't use it very often. “Don't really have anything to compare them to. What are they like now?” He paused, and when Tony turned away from the holographic diagram of his latest project to look at him, he found Bucky grinning. “Asking for a friend.”

 

Tony refocused on the mock-up for one of his suit upgrades with a roll of his eyes. “Why is everyone from the 1800s out to get me?”

 

Bucky just laughed again. It was hard not to notice how nice of a sound it was, when it was something most of them had never heard before.

 

Bucky’s visits became more frequent after that. Sometimes he felt like talking; sometimes he sat there in silence like the first few times, just watching Tony work. On a talkative day, Tony finally asked him why.

 

“It’s too much, sometimes. Up there,” he said, making a vague gesture in the direction of the busier portion of the tower. “Too much going on all the time.”

 

“Like living in a damn zoo, yeah. Surprised you chose this place though. It’s not like I’ve created a calm work environment with all the banging and the shouting… and the cursing.”

 

“You’re very… distracting. In a good way?” Tony wasn’t sure if the upturn of his voice was intentional. Bucky didn’t seem very sure either. Then he added, quietly, “I kinda expected you to kick me out, the first time. I would’ve deserved it.”

 

Tony’s grip on the soldering tool faltered just slightly, and he reached over to shut it off. He swiveled around in his chair to stare at Bucky, who looked like he regretted saying anything at all.

 

And if they’d been having this conversation on that first day, Tony wouldn’t have had any idea what to say to that. How to have a civil conversation with the man who murdered his parents. Fortunately, he’s had plenty of time to think of all the things he’d like to say to Bucky, and he’s fairly certain it won’t end with either of them getting punched in the face. At least 87 percent certain.

 

Not by each other, at least. There’s no telling what Steve would do if he overheard Tony and Bucky having a casual conversation about Tony’s dead parents.

 

“I thought about it,” Tony said finally. Bucky looked away. “But I guess I was curious. Wanted to see what you were up to.”

 

Bucky didn't respond for a long moment. “I’m sor--”

 

“Don't. I know, okay? You're the sorriest person in this whole damn city. I'm pretty sure that's like half your conversations with Steve.”

 

“I...yeah. S’pose so.”

 

Bucky was staring at his hands, his too-long hair hanging down over his eyes. Tony frowned and swiveled back around, picking up the soldering tool again.

 

“You don't have to apologize,” he said into the silence just before the tool flared to life. “You got out and you're not going back. Make the most of it.”

 

When Tony peeked over his shoulder a while later to check on him, Bucky was gone.

 

He didn’t come to the workshop again for almost two weeks.

 

On the day he finally did return, he strolled through the door and straight up to Tony without pause, taking a seat on the swivel chair next to Tony’s as if he didn’t normally choose to leer silently from the corner by the bar like a significantly more attractive Batman. Bucky stared at him in silence, brow furrowed, just long enough for Tony to say, “What…” before his face split into a huge grin.

 

“The internet is way weirder,” he said, “but also way cooler than a record player. A loaf of bread was about ten cents, unless Stevie picked a fight with the bakery owner’s son that day over the way he treated the female customers, and then it was twelve. So on a good day? About 50 loaves.”

 

Tony was too stunned to keep the smile off his face. Bucky’s eyes were lighter than he’d ever seen them, clear and crystal blue, and focused so intently on Tony that he could actually feel a blush coming on. Which was, you know. _Not okay._

 

“And the new latex condoms were better than the old rubber ones. But the old ones were reusable, so…” Bucky shrugged. “You work with whatcha got.”

 

Tony laughed and shook his head. “I don’t care what everyone else says, Barnes, you’re a great conversationalist.”

 

“I won’t forget you said that.” Then, quieter. “I won’t forget any of it anymore.”

 

It was shockingly easy, after that. Tony got used to having Bucky around, not as the silent presence that loomed over his shoulder, but as the man who sat beside him as he worked. Who handed him the wrong tools deliberately just to see if he’d get that split-second of Tony actually trying to use them before realizing what had happened. Who asked questions about what things did, and why Tony made certain choices, and let Tony poke around his arm without complaint, figuring out all the ways he could improve it. Who didn’t mind the way Tony chattered as he worked, or the way his mind drifted when he was truly focused, or the way Tony would sometimes go completely silent, lost and frozen, his hands stuttering to a halt.

 

More often than not, he would come back out of it with Bucky’s hand on his arm to meet that steady blue gaze. So different from Steve’s, steely and warm all at the same time, understanding instead of concerned.

 

And maybe it should’ve been surprising, all things considered. But it wasn’t.

 

Because Tony Stark had spent most of his life turning “go with the flow” into an art form. So on a late Sunday morning that once again found Tony and Bucky tinkering in the workshop, when he caught Bucky’s eyes straying down to his lips for the umpteenth time in as many weeks, Tony didn’t think to hesitate until after he’d already leaned in to press their lips together. And by then, well…

 

He didn’t exactly have a great track record with letting go of the things he craved.

 

In the end, the most surprising thing about their first kiss came later, when Steve wandered into Tony’s workshop and discovered them somewhere around kiss number thirty, all thoughts of work long forgotten. They both looked up at Steve’s odd, strangled sound.

 

Bucky made absolutely no attempt to remove himself from Tony’s lap, which Tony was grateful for, as this was going to be the kind of conversation that was either significantly improved or completely derailed by an obvious erection.

 

Tony cleared his throat. “So there have been some new developments…”

 

“I solved our problem, Stevie,” Bucky said, with a smug grin that drew a truly inappropriate level of attention to his mouth.

 

“What do you mean _you_ solved it?”

 

“Stevie was worried about sharing--”

 

“I made the first move though.”

 

“So I made the second one. What’s your point?”

 

“That I made the first one. Why should you get the credit?”

 

Bucky licked his lips, slowly, as if he wanted to taste the place Tony’s had just been. “What if I ask for it real nicely?”

 

“...How nicely?”

 

“Well, I could show you--”

 

“This is awful,” Steve muttered, looking back and forth between them, an expression on his face that somehow conveyed awe and dismay at the same time. “ _Awful._ If I’d known you two would _get along …”_

 

“Look at it this way, Steve,” Tony said, running a light, teasing hand down Bucky’s side, just to make him squirm. He was positively delighted by the way it seemed to make Steve squirm even more. “Your decision just became very easy: You can come over here, or we can come to you. Personally, I’m more fond of the first option.”

 

Tony would deny until his last breath how pleased Bucky and Steve’s laughter made him when, much later, he told FRIDAY to have a bigger couch delivered to his workshop. A much, much bigger couch.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come hang out with us on tumblr!  
> [Elaine](http://getmcfucked.tumblr.com) / [Lefty](http://mccrees-left-arm.tumblr.com) / [Mango](http://malevolentmango.tumblr.com)


	2. The Care and Keeping of Falcons

"You need glasses," Bucky said pointedly. Steve tried to ignore the snicker coming from Tony standing behind them, but the gruff feel of goatee on his shoulder didn't help.

 

"I do not."

 

"You do," Bucky said again. "You're ancient. You're like... At least 100 years old now."

 

"Do you have grandkids yet?" Tony asked helpfully. "Great grandkids?"

 

The barista in front of them looked unimpressed as Steve squinted at the Starbucks menu, but Bucky's eyes were on Steve. He wasn't going to offer any mercy this time and Tony was undoubtedly behind it.

 

"I'll have the uh..." Steve stammered. "Cherry Latte, in uh.... Vertical."

 

"Sir, do you mean the chai latte, venti?"

 

Bucky and Tony did not try to hide their giggles.

 

"Erm. Yeah."

 

If the barista was particularly bothered by Bucky and Tony’s antics, he didn’t show it. Even when Bucky asked if they had a seniors discount and insisted that he and Steve both had fought in WWII. Tony had all but dissolved into laughter, his face pressed between Steve’s shoulder blades. Steve was trying very hard to be the responsible adult.

 

“How many sugars you want in that?” The barista had started scribbling on the cup, and Steve decided to focus on that instead of the bullshit his boyfriends were mumbling.

 

“Two.”

 

“Mkay.” The barista chewed on his lip as he wrote. Big brown eyes flashed up to meet Steve’s again. “Cream?”

 

“Y-Yes,” Steve stuttered again. “Please.”

 

He looked up at the ceiling and tried very hard not to hear Bucky’s “oooooooo Stevie’s got a crush.” Or the way Tony was suddenly at attention, looking for the new threat. Stark shouldered his way past the two super soldiers, muttering ‘I’ve got this’ to Bucky and Steve watched in horror as the genius leaned forward on the counter obnoxiously checking the barista’s name tag.

 

“Alright…” he paused. “Sam. Do you recognize us?”

 

“Can I get you anything else, Mr. Rogers? Or Mr. Barnes? Or Mr. Stark?” Sam said without a beat of hesitation.

 

Tony blinked, startled. Bucky was openly laughing now, throwing in an off-handed “He pronounces it _Stank_ , actually.”

 

Ironman whacked the Winter Soldier hard across the gut and Steve wondered when this had become his normal. He apologized to the barista--Sam--and made sure he tipped extra.

 

But even his eyebrows raised when they got the cup back with what was undoubtedly a phone number written across the bottom.

 

It took Tony precisely four hours of ribbing before Steve picked up the damn phone and dialled in the scrawled number on the bottom of the long-empty Starbucks.

 

"Sam Wilson speaking."

 

Steve had to smack Tony hard before the man stopped snickering enough for Steve to get a word in edgewise. "Y-yeah this is Steve-- Steve Rogers. From earlier?"

 

"Right. Can I hear Mr Stank in the background there?" A voice deadpanned from the other end of the line.

 

"Yes. You can hear Mr Stank."

 

Tony stopped snickering. "No. This has to stop."

 

"Guy's pretty used to being the one hassling you, yeah?" Steve grinned as he heard Sam speak again, "Tell him it ain't gonna stop."

 

* * *

 

Sam's first kiss is actually with Tony, weirdly. Everyone assumed it would be Steve and somehow embarrassing, like after three full dates and insisting on pulling out chairs and stuff. But it's Tony. Because the idiom “curiosity killed the cat” was written about Tony Stark and he literally cannot stop himself from interrogating anything or anyone new. Even if he started out dubious of that new thing or person’s presence. Not that Sam was thinking of any particular situation.

 

Tony followed Sam everywhere like a lost puppy, asking a million and one questions. Some about things Sam actually knew the answers to. Like questions about the Psych magazine he’d had delivered to the tower for the past few months. Sam didn’t actually read them, but he appreciated the effort.

 

Tony though? He read them. Thoroughly.

 

“Is narcissism really a disorder?” Tony paused to adjust his aviators. He scrunched his nose up in distaste. “That’s the one Steve keeps saying I’ve got. But he’s not a professional. You’re a professional.”

 

“That I am,” Sam said, trying to hide his grin as he perused the cereal aisle. “And while you are insufferable, you do not have that serious of a disorder.”

 

“Really?” Tony’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s a relief.”

 

Sam distinctly remembers Natasha warning them to lay low as he watches Tony cancel his obviously fake hospitalization appointment through the voice-activated scheduling tool in his fucking _watch_. Several people passed with suspicious glances that would’ve bothered Sam about a year ago.

 

And then sometimes, the questions were wildly out of Sam's area of expertise.

 

“Did you know that a watermelon is a berry?” Tony snagged one of the grapes off the local produce stand. Sam shot an apologetic look to the stand monitor, and placed the grapes in the cart. “It is. Bananas too.”

 

“And what use do you have for this knowledge?” Sam raised an eyebrow at him. “Have any last minute bomb dismantlers that require you to know the type of fruit associated with a particular genus? Special password combos?”

 

“Actually.” Tony frowned. Apparently the grape was not seedless. He leaned over to the bin beside one of the sample trays and spit out the seed. “There was this whole kerfluffle with Capscicle and Klondike Bar with bananas. Something about the whole cultivar dying out. I did some research to see if I could replicate the originals, but…”

 

He trailed off, looking thoughtfully at a barrel of cheese puffs.

 

“But?” Sam prompted.

 

“Hm? Oh. Nothing.” Tony shrugged. “No DNA samples remaining, bananas being surprisingly complex, time being the ultimate wrestling champ even against science… You name it.”

 

Sam stared at him. “You were gunna spend your time--”

 

“My time is very valuable,” Tony interrupted.

 

“--your _very valuable time,_ bringing back ancient bananas for Steve and Bucky?”

 

Tony shifted uncomfortably and Sam wondered if the aviators were useful for more than just avoiding being recognized. He abandoned the shopping cart and moved to follow Tony down the snacks aisle.

 

“You really love them, don’t you?” Sam asked. Tony stilled. He didn’t respond, so Sam pressed a bit harder. “All this, this bluster nonsense. It’s for show. You’ve got a heart of gold, y’know that?”

 

“Adamantium.”

 

“What?”

 

“Technically, it’s adamantium. My heart.” Tony tapped the center of his chest with a finger. “Adamantium.”

 

Sam laughed, shaking his head. He’d turned around and was moving back towards the cart (which Tony had sneakily filled to the brim with white cheddar popcorn) and he almost missed it.

 

"Can I kiss you?"

 

Sam blinked at Tony. The man wasn’t even looking at him. He was carefully going through all the lines of nutrition on a bag of jalapeño flavoured pork rinds that Sam was one-hundred percent sure he had no interest in actually purchasing. Still, he tossed the bag into the cart with surprising accuracy and looked at Sam.

 

“You heard me.” Tony’s easy-going grin was a little strained even to Sam.

 

He was _nervous._

 

Sam closed the distance between them quickly, pressing his lips firmly to Tony’s and grinning into the kiss as Tony wilted bodily into the touch. He held him there, keeping the kiss slow and chaste, one hand tracing Tony’s jaw and lightly landing over his pulse point. His heartbeat was elevated, but… In a good way. Sam smiled, and tugged the sunglasses off as he pulled away.

 

Tony’s jaw might as well have hit the floor.

 

Sam grinned, putting the sunglasses on himself, and turned back around to grab the cart.

 

“Anyway, watermelons aren’t berries, Tony,” Sam added helpfully. “They’re _pepos.”_

 

* * *

 

The hype about Captain America’s heroic personality, Sam learns, is completely warranted. Watching Steve Rogers in action always felt surreal--both on the battlefield and in everyday life. The guy had a knack for just spitting out quotes that folks would be printing on t-shirts for decades and it was one-hundred percent nauseatingly genuine.

 

But despite all the Time Magazine articles and interviews on the Morning Show, no one ever seemed to catch on to the full extent of it. Sam’s running theory was that Steve Rogers was a paragon of righteousness but only when interacted with in short doses. See, what the reporters didn’t know, was that he _never actually calmed down._

 

Sam had only been brought into their strange little foursome family about a month ago, but it barely took longer than three days to realize that attempting to get Steve to relax was a waste of time and breath. He’d made the mistake of taking the super soldier with him to get groceries (an errand that was now strictly monopolized by Tony) and ended up watching in horror as Steve got right up in the face of a cashier that was being snide to someone with food stamps. Bucky had warned him not to take Steve anywhere when he got that certain hungry look in his eye, but Sam had thought surely a walk in Central Park would help clear his nerves. Steve lapped him twice. The only reason he did not lap him three times was because he stopped to argue about eco-terrorism with a Green Peace clipboard volunteer.

 

Not to mention the _Incident_ at the public library. Sam would spend the rest of his goddamn days trying to erase the _Incident_ from his memory. He could still feel the second hand embarrassment.

 

Sam had learned the hard way that Steve Rogers had zero chill.

 

The best thing to do, Bucky had advised, was just stay back and let him pick the fights he was going to pick. Sam didn’t believe him for a while-- _no one_ had _that_ much energy--but sure enough, he would watch Steve flit from cause to cause like the world’s angriest social butterfly. He fed off of the adrenaline of the fights. And it wasn’t like backing down or taking a break was even an option. _God forbid._

 

After watching the man go non-stop for a little over a month, Sam was honestly relieved to see the weight of it all resting heavy on the Captain’s shoulders. He wouldn’t have even noticed it if it weren’t for the subtle cues coming from Bucky and Tony. Well, subtle cues from Bucky. The assassin’s little worried looks lasted a second longer than normal, and he was more fervently insistent than usual that Steve take a day off. Tony, on the other hand, actually put on the suit only so that he could pick up the wriggling super soldier and jet them to the bedroom for ‘a goddamn nap.’ Sam pieced it together pretty quickly after that.

 

See the thing about Steve Rogers, aside from being an adrenaline junkie, was that he actually cared. _Really cared._ With the entirety of his way too big heart. And he cared that much about everything.

 

Sam had watched the man get shot hundreds of times and keep moving like it was nothing. Watched him face down aliens with that same stubborn set of his jaw that he had adopted before yelling at the cashier. He’d heard the damn impromptu speeches and was frankly wondering if there was some kind of seminar he’d missed.

 

A full day of bad news was what it took to take down Captain America, it turned out. A full day of national coverage of a devastating court case about water rights, news of a famous activist passing away, and the fresh horror of amateur video and audio records of yet another police brutality shooting.

 

Sam watched from a distance as Bucky loudly insisted on watching cartoons, claiming he was feeling nostalgic. Tony blasted AC/DC loud enough to make any sort of thinking difficult, and spent the whole day wandering the tower in only his boxers.

 

Both strategies quelled the influx of bad that Steve was soaking up like a sponge, but the cloud still hung around him. It hid in shadows under the corners of his eyes, and lived in the long sighs he pushed out of his chest in his best impersonation of bellows. It took the rhythm of fingertips tapping nervously on the counter, twitchy and constantly moving. Making coffee, boxing, sparring with Bucky, aggressive sex with Tony, or Mario Kart when he could muster up the control it took to sit still for the whole game. Or at least still _-ish._

 

The day had drawn to a close when Tony announced that, for once, he was tired. Bucky and Steve both immediately piped up to insist that he act on that urge immediately. Bucky even offered to watch over him to make sure his much needed sleep was undisturbed. Tony insisted that it was an unnecessary measure and Bucky had agreed without argument in such a calm way that Sam had zero doubt that he’d tucked himself into the goddamn air vents or something. But that Tony was too tired to pick up on the suspicious agreeability was proof enough that Bucky’s concern was warranted, so. Sam kept quiet.

 

With both men out of the picture, Sam found himself in the unusual position of actually being alone with Steve. He was still pacing back and forth in their living room, seemingly unaware that it was 2AM. Sam watched him mumbling under his breath, arguing with an imaginary opponent about the minimum wage from the sounds of it, and flicking through articles on the datapad he held close to his torso.

 

“Hey.” Sam’s voice sounded loud when it broke the heavy silence and Steve jumped a bit. He blinked owlishly at Sam and took a second too long to force that fake as shit sunshine smile across his face. “How’re you holding up?”

 

“Hey yourself,” Steve said, making an attempt at sounding casual. Sam raised an eyebrow. "Late, isn’t it?”

 

“Sure is,” Sam agreed.

 

Steve coughed, and pointed at the data-pad. “I’ll be coming to bed soon too. Honest. Just gotta finish this article.”

 

Sam nodded. “Mmhm. I was thinking of going for a jog, actually.”

 

Steve’s eyes lit up and he tossed the datapad onto the couch. “I’ll come with you!” He patted a hand on Sam’s shoulder then paused, looking at Sam worriedly. “If that’s okay?”

 

Sam snorted. “Yeah, just none of this ‘on your left’ shit. Nice slow and easy jog.”

 

Steve’s grin was a little too devious for Sam’s liking, but he still counted getting him out of the tower as a victory.

 

Half an hour later, Sam found himself the captive audience of a detailed lecture on economic inequality. The energy had returned in part to Steve’s words and a little bit of the fighting spirit peeked through when he got to a point that clearly bothered him more than the rest, but the look in his eyes was still distant. So Sam nodded, frowned when appropriate, and agreed whenever those blue eyes glanced over to make sure he hadn’t gotten lost in the details.

 

When thunder started to rumble, Steve got suspicious.

 

“Y’know,” Steve said, breath still perfectly even. “We should probably head back in. It’s late.”

 

“Nah.” Sam shook his head. “I’m still going.”

 

Steve’s eyes narrowed on him. “It’s 3AM, Sam.”

 

Sam met his gaze evenly and shrugged. “So?”

 

“And it’s gunna rain.” Steve scowled then. “There’s no reason you need to be out here right now. Don’t push yourself like that. You’ll get sick.”

 

“You can go back if you want,” Sam replied, knowing full well that Steve would never even consider it.

 

The blonde shook his head predictably, but he kept trying to slow down their pace. Sam refused to let up. Steve picked up speed again, jogging backwards and frowning. “Really, Sam, you don’t gotta do this--”

 

“Tell you what, Steve,” Sam interrupted. “I’ll go home if you can make me go home.”

 

Steve’s steps got all jumbled and he twisted wildly to avoid falling on his ass, then scrambling to catch back up. “Are you crazy? I’m not going to fight you Sam.”

 

“Yeah, I know.” Sam grinned. “You ain’t even gunna catch me.”

 

“Wha--”

 

Sam took off sprinting. Steve and Bucky may have been able to jog at stupidly fast paces, but Sam fucking relished hearing the man behind him squawk in alarm before trying to take off after the Falcon. _And Steve,_ Sam thought, _is about to learn how fast you’ve gotta sprint to be able to land at high speeds._ Sam had been awarded those wings for a reason.

 

He only stayed near enough to hear Steve swear loudly once. When he could no longer hear or see the man, Sam started to slow down. Thunder rumbled again ominously. He scanned the area for some kind of cover and chose the closed up newspaper vendor’s cart, ducking under the tilted tin roofing and keeping his eye on the path he’d come from.

 

Steve emerged moments later looking baffled and a little alarmed. Sam watched his chest heave a sigh of relief when their eyes met and busted out laughing when the sky opened up to rain buckets directly on top of the sulky Captain. Steve jogged over, a hand shielding his face from the worst of it in a half-assed attempt.

 

Sam’s breath was still coming in puffs, and he was gratified to see that Steve’s was too. The rain had washed away more than the sweat, though. The tension in Steve’s shoulders had eased, and the line of his brow had softened. His eyes were dark, the blue barely visible in the streetlight, but Sam could still pick out a couple rain drops that rested on the tips of his lashes, some droplets running down the side of his face when his cheek crinkled in a smile.

 

“How’re you holding up?” Sam asked again, already knowing the answer.

 

“Better,” Steve admitted, looking down at the ground between them. “Much better. Hard to look out and see that the world hasn’t changed. Even after all the fighting.”

 

“Y’know, sometimes I think you get so wrapped up in saving the world that you forget to live in it.” Sam looked to the side, reaching out to pick at the black paint on the metal bar holding the tin roof over the wooden cart. “Stuff’s alright. There’s still Central Park, and movies, and rain, and those shitty vendor hotdogs you like.”

 

“Hey now, don’t slander Vinos.”

 

“I’ll slander whatever the hell I want, Cap,” Sam deadpanned. “All I know is that it’s a scarier world when something manages to tame whatever it is that makes you so… Steve.”

 

Steve’s eyes widened then. “Oh? And what’s that?”

 

“Being the only goddamn person in the world that would pick a fight with his own reflection if he thought he saw it being disrespectful to someone. You’re goddamn obnoxious.”

 

Steve snorted, the laugh catching him entirely off guard. “Yeah, yeah. I owe you one, Sam.”   

 

“Don’t have any idea what you’re talkin’ about, Steve.” Sam allowed himself a wry grin and Steve mirrored it.

 

“That right?” Steve challenged, crowding into his space.

 

“Yeah, that’s right.” Sam stayed firmly planted, meeting that stubborn gaze with his own. “All I did was kick your ass in a little bitty race. But if means that much to you, I’m happy to embarrass you with people around next time.”

 

Steve laughed and _there it was._ That energy that sparkled in everything he did--that unsmotherable bundle of fire that made up Steve Rogers.

 

Sam reached up to brush away a stray drop of water that hung off the tip of Steve’s nose. The rain water was cold, but Steve’s skin was still warm, soft, and comforting when his hand came up to grab Sam’s own and press it firmly to his cheek. He tilted his head into Sam’s touch, smiling at him with that big dopey grin that made Sam’s heart do funny tricks. He curled the tips of his fingers around Steve’s face, pushing around until he could tug on the back of his neck and drag him close.

 

Steve, for once, took the hint and kissed him slow, gently letting their breath mix. The touch against his waist was reverent. Steve’s hand tugged on the fabric of Sam’s hoodie, herding him closer and pressing him back against the empty cart with equal insistence. When Sam broke away for air, Steve bit at his bottom lip, bringing up a hand to cradle his jaw like he was something delicate.

 

“Thank you.” Steve’s voice was barely above a whisper, and Sam stayed close enough to feel the way his lips shaped around the words. “Really, Sam. _Thank you._ ”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” He smiled and pressed another soft kiss to Steve’s lips before pulling away completely. “Let’s get you home before you catch a cold.”

 

* * *

 

As sleazy as his jokes were, as many times as he'd winked suggestively, even after several extremely acrobatic nights of sex (Sam is pretty sure he understands now exactly why the super soldier serum and the arc reactor are considered Dangerous), it takes a full fucking year to kiss Bucky Barnes. It's not that he's cold, or distant, either. He was involved since the day Sam was brought into this weird little family, poking and prodding at odd angles until he figured out all of Sam's buttons. It was a weird mixture of unnerving and comforting to have someone know you that well.

 

But no, there were no kisses, no hand holding. _Nothing._

 

In fact, when they were nearing the first anniversary of the four of them, Bucky actually started acting suspicious. He'd duck around corners to avoid Sam. He'd change the topic whenever Sam came into the room. He hid his texts, and spoke in Russian whenever he could get away with it.

 

Sam Wilson was having _none of it._

 

When he finally cornered him in Tony's lab, it only took a harsh look in Tony's direction to get the world-renowned genius scampering for the hills. The winter soldier stayed put, wincing.

 

"You wanna explain yourself, Barnes?"

 

Bucky tried one of his more winning smiles. "After last night, I think we can finally move to a first name basis, Sammy."

 

Sam scowled. Bucky flinched.

 

"Okay, okay." He held up his hands placatingly. "it was supposed to be a surprise, but..."

 

He trailed off, moving to the keyboard to bring up a metric ton of files. The metal arm gleamed through the projected light as Bucky shifted the files around, searching for something. When he pulled it up, Sam's heart stilled.

 

"I know they're not the originals." Bucky sounded repentant now, gesturing at blueprints for the most beautiful wings Sam has ever seen. "Tony says they're better but. You know Tony. No sentimental value in stuff for him."

 

Sam just gaped at him. Bucky's grimace grew.

 

"And I know it doesn't make things right. Don't blame you, honestly," he admitted with a shrug. "You don't gotta pretend any different. You already work wonders with what you're willing to tolerate."

 

“You… think I'm just tolerating you?” The words fall out of Sam's mouth like rocks. “Are you _serious_ Bucky?”

 

Bucky blanched, obviously ready to start back-pedalling. Sam beat him to it, taking a step forward and slowly, carefully taking Bucky's hands in his own (watching carefully the whole time just to make sure). Bucky stared down at their entwined fingers with a confused look on his face.

 

“James Buchanan Barnes, I forgave you a long time ago. And I am not tolerating you. I _like_ you,” Sam spoke softly, worried he might spook the man. Seemed like a valid fear when Bucky's eyes went wide. But Sam Wilson was first and foremost a soldier so: he soldiered on. “Can I kiss you?”

 

It was now Bucky's turn to gape at Sam. Those pale blue eyes wide and just a little hopeful. He recovered quickly enough to give Sam a shy smile.

 

“Yeah.” Bucky cleared his throat. “S’long as you never call me James _ever again._ No one calls me--”

 

Sam interrupted him with a kiss and, based on the surprised-yet-pleased sound that slipped from Bucky's throat, he didn't think the man minded much at all.

 

* * *

 

If pressed, Tony wouldn't be able to explain exactly why there was a single men's size 11 shoe on his kitchen counter.

 

He blinked at it, bleary-eyed, before turning his back on it and stabbing the power button on the coffee maker with rather more force than necessary. This wasn't the kind of thing one dealt with before the caffeine kicked in.

 

He dug through the fridge for something to eat, a voice in his head that sounded an awful lot like Sam's reminding him of the importance of breakfast, and eventually settled on a bagel.

 

It was only after he'd closed the fridge that he realized the shoe was rather inconveniently located right in front of the toaster.

 

He squinted at the shoe - a black sneaker in relatively good condition - and recognized it after a second as belonging to Bucky.

 

Tony had a bit of a better idea how it had gotten there, now.

 

The Tower was mostly empty, for once. All but Tony and the three best people for him to be left alone with. Or worst, depending on your perspective.

 

"You forget how to work the toaster?" came Sam's voice from behind him. When Tony glanced over his shoulder, it was to see a shirtless Sam standing in the doorway with a raised eyebrow. "Is that a shoe?"

 

"Well it's definitely not a puppy," he said, nudging the offending object out of the way with his elbow so that he could drop the bagel in the toaster. "Super soldiers still asleep?"

 

"I'm sure they'll wander in any second."

 

"It's not nice to talk about people behind their backs, you know," Steve said, appearing behind Sam just as he finished speaking with Bucky at his side. Steve planted a kiss on Sam's lips as he passed by, which was accompanied by a grope to his ass by a grinning Bucky, if the way Sam jumped was any indication.

 

"Speak for yourself, golden boy," Tony said. "Some of us enjoy our awful reputations." He leaned around the immense distraction that was Steve's naked upper body to glare at Bucky. "Get your shoe off my counter."

 

"I didn't put it there."

 

"I don't care, I just want it gone."

 

"So you move it then."

 

"It's not my shoe."

 

"Well it's not my fault you couldn't keep it in your pants long enough to make it to the bedroom last night."

 

"I liked it better when you two were asleep," Sam said, ignoring Tony and Bucky's bickering in favor of retrieving the orange juice from the fridge.

 

"You only love us for our looks." Tony wrapped an arm around Bucky's shoulders and pulled him into a long kiss. When they parted, both Sam and Steve were staring at them intently.

 

Steve cleared his throat. "That's not the only thing..."

 

Sam just rolled his eyes, took a long swig of his orange juice, and said, "Back at it again, boys?"

 

Bucky was trailing kisses down his neck as Tony said, "Don't have to tell me twice, Angel."

 

Much later, the bagel was still sitting cold in the toaster, accompanied by a very questionable shoe.

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out with us on tumblr!  
> [Elaine](http://getmcfucked.tumblr.com) / [Lefty](http://mccrees-left-arm.tumblr.com) / [Mango](http://malevolentmango.tumblr.com)


End file.
